Page 93 of Till Orc Do Us Part
The doorway is wide, worn smooth with use. Inside, the air glows warm with low light—oil lamps set in iron sconces. No harsh overheads here. The scent of cedar, paper, and sea-damp wood weaves through the space, grounding and alive.
My gaze drifts.
And finds them.
Framed along the near wall—Jamie’s drawings.
Every page ofThe Green Giantcaptured beneath glass.
The sea saved by a wish.
A lighthouse held tall.
The boardwalk alight with stars.
And there—drawn in crayon strokes unsteady but full of heart—me, Jamie, and Drokhaz beneath this very swing.
My breath catches, sharp and full of things I can’t name.
My feet won’t move.
Beside the door, hung on a simple iron hook, rests a single key.
Plain iron, worn from use.
The tag attached is a strip of driftwood, smoothed and inked in clean, deliberate strokes:
US.
That one word knocks the air from my lungs.
I stand frozen—wind whipping stray curls across my cheek, jacket pressed tight against my ribs.
Drokhaz says nothing.
He simply waits.
No pressure. No demand. Just… space.
Gods.
I want to run.
I want to step inside.
Both at once.
Because this moment isn’t about walls anymore. Not about fights or stubborn pride or the fire I’ve used to keep others at bay.
This is about choice.
Mine.
And I feel the weight of it in every trembling breath.
He speaks then, voice softer than I’ve ever heard. “No promises. No pressure. Only what you choose.”
I close my eyes. The porch hums beneath me, the sea shushing low and endless below.
